Cherry Red
by china.teacups
Summary: One shot about a prostitute that is not mentioned in the movie Moulin Rouge.


Hey! I decided that since I adore Moulin Rouge! That I would write a fanfic on it. At first, I thought I would write it from Satines point of view, looking at her past. Then I thought it would be so much more fun to invent a whole new character. I don't own Zidler, Satine or anyone from the movie.

Whore. Prostitute. Slut. Hooker.

Call me what you will, but we all have a living to make, right?

I look at what I do as a job. I don't love the men I sleep with, and I certainly know they don't love me.

And like anyone else on this earth, I need the money.

To you I may seem just another prostitute on the streets of Paris, but just in case you're interested, I'll tell you about myself.

My name is Belle Clair, and I was born 1880, in the small village of Pont du Loup. My mother and father had a small farm, and the money we made just about kept us afloat. That was until I was fifteen, when my father died and my mother couldn't keep the farm anymore. That was when I and my sister Colette ran away to Paris. I haven't seen my little sister for a year. I hope she's happy, wherever she is.

I became a prostitute when I was sixteen. I had been in Paris barley a year, and my dreams of finding love and work where fading fast. Then I met a man. He was large, with a dramatic red button up coat that looked expensive. He had a ginger beard, a wide grin and excited eyes. He introduced himself as Zidler. "No second name, darling," he told me over a glass of wine in a cheap restaurant. "Just Zidler."

Zidler told me of a place where beautiful woman danced with handsome men all night. A place where I would be given beautiful dresses, I would eat every night, and even better, the place was full of women. After spending a year on the streets of Paris, I was very wary of men. He named this heaven the Moulin Rouge, and asked me to join him. Having no other alternative, I did.

My first client was a man of around forty. He was obviously very rich, and when he asked me to dance, I had no objections. I had been watching the other girls all night, and had picked up some moves. They were degrading and made me uncomfortable, but I wanted to keep Zidler happy for bringing me to such a wonderful place. While we danced, he kept pulling me close to whisper in my ear.

"Your extremely beautiful, ma Cherie." He slurred. His neatly trimmed beard tickled my cheek.

"Merci, monsieur." I mumbled into his chest. He brushed my long auburn hair to one side and began kissing my neck. He then chuckled as I blushed furiously.

"You're so innocent," he admired. "So much fresher than any of these old hags. I bet Zidler has a high asking price for you, oui?"

I had no idea what he was talking about. Did men pay us to dance? Where we maids? I was clueless.

"Come, ma Cherie. Let's find somewhere."

He lead me from the floor, weaved us between tables, then up the grand stairs to find 'somewhere'. I was confused, but happy to leave the ballroom. It was crowded, women kept lifting there many skirts and my head was fuzzy from the endless glasses of whiskey and gin that men kept pressing into my hand. I passed Satine, Zidlers most prized 'Diamond Dog' on the stairs. I had no idea what I Diamond Dog was. She looked at me with a concerned expression. "Allard," she called to the man. "Look after our little Belle. She new here."

"Oui, Oui, Madame Satine!" He replied enthusiastically. "She's in safe _hands _with me." I watched him wink at Satine, and the men around her roared with laughter. Satine looked even more worried. "I mean it, Allard," she said soberly. "Be gentle, she's a delicate little thing."

Allard waved his hand in response, and proceeded to lead me up the stairs. I was young, but I wasn't stupid. I finally understood where this 'somewhere' was. A bedroom.

Upon finding an empty room, Allard wasted no time in undressing us both. His kind, flattering words in the ballroom where a thing of the past and a terrifying lust had replaced them. He lied to Satine, he was not gentle. When he was finished with me, he laid his head on my breast and sighed in contentment. I had been crying softly the whole time, but my headache was nothing compared to the dull throb between my legs. After about ten minutes, he rose and took ten Francs from his wallet, and handed them to me.

"Tell Zidler I'll give him his share when I see him. Adieu, ma Cherie. I'll come back to see you sometime."

I never did sleep with Allard again. I sometimes see him around the Moulin Rouge dancefloor, but after my experience with him I found out from the girls he had a thing for taking girls virginities. He always went for the new ones.

I never did forget him though. That night with him changed my whole perspective. It had hurt, yes. I felt dirty, true. But ten francs, after a year of having nothing, and it was all mine. I fell easily into the game; dance, seduce, take upstairs, fake a few moans and get your money. I also found out Allard seriously under paid me. Once I got more experienced, men would pay up to 50 francs for a night with me. I began to be known as Cerise, meaning cherry red, as I began to become famous (or rather infamous) for my flaming red hair.

So there is my sob story.

My name is Cerise, no second name.

And I am a prostitute in the Moulin Rouge, Paris.


End file.
